


Nightmare in Brokilon

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Brokilon, Gen, Injury, Major Character Injury, Random & Short, Who doesn't love a little Geralt whump?, Whump, giant centipede, monster hunting, venom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: Geralt takes a contract to exterminate a centipede nest, nothing goes to plan.





	Nightmare in Brokilon

Rain made the ground underfoot spongy and dripped down the back of Geralt’s neck. He’d not been invited to pass into the forests of Brokilon. Crossing the river could be seen as an act of defiance and the dryads were not known to be forgiving. Even with Queen Eithne’s favor, what he was doing was stupid and he knew it.

The giant centipede nest he’d been contracted to exterminate wasn’t supposed to be this far into the forest, but he was committed, there was no turning back.

A clicking rattle caught his attention from off to his left. Geralt prowled closer, silver sword in hand. The tell tale signs of churned ground and torn vegetation marked up the forest floor. His senses sharpened, readying for a fight.

He didn’t have to wait long. A massive chitinous head and segmented body thrust up from the ground at his feet, forcing him to roll back and away as its knifing mandibles snapped straight for his face. Geralt cast Quen as it lunged forward again. The sign knocked the creature back, giving him a second to gain his feet. A drop of venom flung from the tip of one of the mandibles, striking the trunk of a nearby tree with a hiss and smoke.

A single strike with that mandible would tear him open and leave a trail of venom in its wake. It was rumored that a normal man couldn’t last longer than a minute once bitten. Witcher mutations fought against the effects, buying valuable time to use a potion to neutralize the worst of it.

Even with the mutations, Geralt couldn’t stomach the idea of trying to recover from what the giant centipede could do to him. The ground rumbled. He’d only seen the one centipede so far, but a nest here in the forest might have up to half a dozen. There would be more, and now they all knew he was there and a threat.

Geralt honed in on the vibrations at his feet, gauging distance and direction. They’d break through the surface at any second, with luck he could trap one of them. Another vibration shook him, this one closer. He cast Yrden over the spot and jumped back.

The alien-like head with it’s snapping mandibles and spindly flailing legs burst from the ground and sprung Geralt’s trap. Purple lines of magic wrapped around it, holding it still and filling the air with the smell of hot metal. With a creature this size, Yrden couldn’t hold it for long.

Geralt leapt in, slashing and stabbing as he went. His first strike severed one of the dripping venomous mandibles. The creature screamed in a bone-shaking resonant hiss. The ground shook again, this time to either side of the wounded creature. Geralt jumped and twisted, his blade flashing in the rain. He leaned all his weight into the blow, severing the first centipede’s head. Bright blue-green blood splashed across the torn up earth in an arc.

Two massive centipedes burst from the ground, flanking Geralt on either side. He parried the blow from one with his outstretched sword, narrowly avoiding being smashed to the ground by its heavy swinging head. As he turned to strike at the second and force it back, several of the first’s flailing claws caught the edge of his armor and yanked him into its strong grip.

Geralt slashed at the centipede that held him hostage, cutting away at the barbed legs pulling him closer to its dripping snapping mouth. For every two he severed, another four caught hold. One of his arms was hopelessly trapped and he wasn’t willing to drop his sword. Not when it was his last line of defense. The second centipede arched up, readying to snap at his exposed legs.

A bitter thought took hold. He was going to die here. Killed by giant bugs no less. The soft touches of resignation brushed over him as the centipede’s grip around his chest crushed the breath from his lungs. No, he wouldn’t give in without a fight. 

The creature holding him curled down to deliver its deadly bite. Geralt frantically swung at the monster’s head, each blow bouncing off the thick armored bands of its segmented body. He didn’t have the leverage or space he needed to strike an effective blow.

The dripping mandibles pinched on either side of the meat of his shoulder, angling deeply into his chest. The thick armor at his shoulder bore the brunt of the bite at first but then slowly gave away under the razor sharp edges. 

The first sharp tip of the centipede’s mandible broke through Geralt’s armor and drove into the meat of his shoulder beneath. It wouldn’t be long before the second did the same.

Geralt changed tactics, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the creature would damage his free arm to the point where he would no longer be able to use it. He angled the point of his blade at the weak point of the creature’s neck where two plates of its hard carapace came together. With a yell, he heaved his weight against the hilt, driving the sword deep into the crack.

The centipede spasmed and clenched its jaws down into his shoulder, snapping Geralt’s collarbone like a twig. The burn of venom laced through the wound. In the midst of the creature’s death throes it flung Geralt free from the grasp of those hooked claws and sent him tumbling through the wet undergrowth. The impact left him stunned and breathless.

Overhead, the trees blurred. The evening blues and greens of the forest mixed into the dull color of mud. Rain continued to fall. A cold mist hovered over the ground. Before Geralt could take a single potion or bind his now useless arm to his chest, the leafy undergrowth to his right shifted.

His silver sword lay fifteen paces in front of him. He cast Quen again, using the protective bubble of its shield to buy him time as he struggled to his feet. The remaining centipede threw itself against the magical barrier causing it to splinter and crack. Geralt stumbled across the uneven ground to reclaim his sword, the effort leaving him dizzy.

The giant centipede stalked him from beneath what remained of the cover of the low bushes, staying out of sight and waiting for the perfect moment to spring. Pulsing waves of agony swept through Geralt’s body with each beat of his heart. His sight blurred again and he fell to his knees.

The silver sword laying in front of him glittered with gathered droplets of rain. He wrapped his good hand around the hilt, willing his training to take control as his consciousness started to slide. One clean hit and all this could be over.

The centipede lunged forward from its hiding place, dagger-like mandibles extended for the kill. Geralt raised and leveled his sword, aiming for the fleshy insides of the creatures mouth. 

At the last moment the creature twisted, causing Geralt’s blade to bounce to the side. The impact knocked the weapon from his weakening hand. The centipede’s jaws locked around his chest and squeezed as the muscular rings of its segmented body wrapped around him.

Geralt’s struggles softened and went still. His heart hammered in his skull as those muscular rings drew tighter with each exhale.

His awareness shrank down to the effort it took to force air into his lungs. A flurry of motion crossed the edge of his narrowing vision. The centipede jerked to the side. Its jaws slammed shut breaking Geralt's ribs beneath before it arched backward and dropped him to the ground.

A pair of well worn knee high boots entered his field of vision moments before he blacked out.

A sharp sting bit across Geralt’s face accompanied by a crack of sound. 

“Breathe!” Another stinging slap. “Come on you old fool, you have to breathe.”

Geralt’s lungs burned. A cascade of pain tumbled over him as awareness returned. He knew he needed to breathe, knew the burn would fade if he managed to convince his body to respond. 

“Geralt, please.” Concern pinched the woman’s voice. “Your path can’t end here.” Her warm hand laced into his. 

That single point of contact, the warmth of her presence, the familiarity of her voice stirred up the will to keep fighting. He sucked in a gasping breath and it brought with it a fresh wave of agony. He clung to the hand, letting the knowledge that he wasn’t alone anchor him. 

“Gods. You scared me.” She set a trembling hand on the side of his face. “What potion do you need?”

He touched at the vials secured across his chest, thankfully still intact even after he’d been thrown. He tapped at the vial second to the top. Golden Oriole would neutralize the venom, the other injuries could wait.

She tilted his head back and pressed the vial to his lips. Cool liquid flowed down his throat easing the burning ache and bringing with it a measure of relief.

The hand returned to his face. “What do I do now?”

Geralt worked open his eyes to see Milva bent over him, her trusty longbow arching over her shoulder. She looked as though she’d been crying. 

He pressed his hand over hers. “It’s okay. I’m safe now.”

**Author's Note:**

> After last week's sweet reunion between Geralt and Ciri at Corvo Bianco, I thought it was a great time to write another action-filled fight scene where Geralt gets his butt handed to him.


End file.
